I could not love thee, Dear, so much Loved I not Honour more
by sopranish
Summary: Castiel keeps leaving Dean without explanation, and Dean knows he shouldn't mind. Left alone in a battleground of an old house, a piano and a quiet moment allow some things to be expressed that can't be as easily said. Based on, and uses, "Going to the Warres" by Richard Jackson Cumming, a setting of the poem "To Lucasta, Going to the Warres" by Richard Lovelace.


**Note:** A recording of the song on which this story is based can be heard at the original Tumblr post of this story here ( /ZYvd91). The song and the recording is beautiful and will explain the mood and meaning of this fic. It is also privately leant and not to be downloaded or shared except in the context of this piece. Enjoy!

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After the battle, mild afternoon light makes the old bare house strangely beautiful and warm. Almost cozy and soft despite its sparseness. Sam goes slowly upstairs, checking the many rooms and hallways for any straggling demons or enemies, but they all know they are the only ones left.

Dean catches up with Castiel in the large living room. Sun streams through the threadbare drapes where they're pulled back. It lands on the dust covering a solid, ornately carved baby grand piano. Dean regards the instrument, but more closely looks at Cas, who is lovingly running a hand along the wood through the dust, in and out of the light.

"I'll need to move on when we're done here," Castiel tells him. Dean thinks he sounds almost regretful, but he could just be hoping.

"Yah, I know. I get it," Dean definitely sounds regretful.

He still hasn't found a way to talk to Cas about it all. Not just the details of what Naomi had done to him. But how he hated more than ever Cas's absence; how he's never sure if screaming "stay" is something he's too manly or too terrified to do.

Just now, with the soft warmth of the room and Cas's solid and comforting presence he never wants gone, he can't come up with a single funny or brash thing to say.

"You know music? You play?" He asks, with a little genuine surprise.

"Of course," Cas replies lowly, glancing up at Dean before something makes him look down again. "Of all the things humans have created, music might be the most powerful. Even when it's not in service of God, it stands as testament to the miracles with which he imbued humanity. It's been one of my favourite things to observe."

Dean is oddly moved. He isn't sure if it's Cas's words, somehow less chick-flick coming from him than anyone else, or the way that he's still touching the piano. Touching it as gently and lovingly as if it were a soul and body he were rebuilding from Hell and dirt. Dean has to say something before he gets a little jealous of an old hunk of wood and wires.

"All right then," Dean insists, rubbing them together, "let's hear it. I'm sure you can get this thing tuned and good to go. Play for me. Serenade me." Dean grins at how silly it sounds hoping it will lighten the mood.

Castiel frowns, oddly adorable for a creature powerful enough to end or raise life. He closes his eyes for a moment, and suddenly the piano is shined bright and restored. Castiel easily raises and secures the lid, then the keyboard cover as he settles himself on the large old fashioned piano bench. His presence is suddenly commanding and enormous with a power that does not threaten. Dean feigns looking for another chair before sitting next to him.

And with just a few introductory chords, Castiel begins to sing:

_"Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind…"_

Dean loses the next few lines, lost in the sonority of Cas's voice. The rich bass-baritone fills the room and Dean. It shimmers and vibrates through his whole body; he can feel the sound coming from Castiel. Bright and strong and powerful and too much, some vestige of his true voice, yet incredibly gentle and careful. Of course.

Dean can't help noticing Cas's hands as he plays as well. Those large, strong hands with fingers delicate enough for complex rhythms, counterpoint, the strange complicated harmonies- a type of music Dean woud make fun of as so not his type under any other circumstances- it unsettles Dean how elegant, but physically necessary, it all seems under Castiel's beautiful hands. That controlled power and grace that he suddenly admits inside he wants to feel everywhere he feels Castiel's voice.

When Dean tunes back into the words, how Cas uses them starts sinking in.

_"To war and arms I fly…  
And with a stronger faith embrace  
A sword, a horse, a shield."_

Dean knows that feeling all too well. And suddenly completely empathizes with what Castiel is apparently telling him. But Dean sees the determined set of Cas's eyes soften to something deeper yet equally fierce as he continues.

_"Yet this inconstancy is such  
As you too shall adore;  
I could not love thee, Dear, so much  
Lov'd I not Honour more."_

Dean struggles not to let tears overwhelm him as he watches Cas's hands finishing the song. When the last chord has rung, those hands remain on the keys, reluctant to let go of the music and the moment.

Without his consent, Dean watches his own hands come up and over Cas's, trembling slightly as he holds their weight, warm and real, and still curved gracefully over the keyboard. Slowly he picks up Castiel's right hand, stroking the soft back of it with his thumbs. He can't look in Cas's eyes as he gently presses his lips to it. He lingers, though, pressing a kiss firmer and warmer into the comfort of a part of Cas so simply full.

When he finally gathers the courage to look up, Castiel is staring at him. Angels aren't meant to cry, but Castiel is close, eyes brimming with apology and, now Dean sees it, love. Suddenly he doesn't know why he ever doubted it, ever tried to evade his own feelings.

Because this is love as they can feel it. Love betrayed by itself and necessity, but no less true. Love that cannot give up on what is righteous and good for its own sake without resentment, without fundamental change.

And suddenly none of that matters because those very hands are cupping Dean's face, bringing it forward quickly to meet Cas's mouth in a kiss, hard and honest beyond Dean's imagination. As Cas opens his mouth and Dean follows suit, Cas can't suppress something between a groan and a sigh. It is as full and resonant as his singing, and Dean swallows it, letting it vibrate as part of himself as well.

Dean's arms come up, both of them now running hands through hair and over shoulders. He feels something like a promise. And Dean can somehow remember every note and word of the song perfectly, and doesn't mind if that's Cas's doing. It only makes him kiss harder, more fiercely. They kiss, and hold each other so fast there is no air between their mouths, no space between the rhythm Dean can feel from Cas's heart and his own.

Finally they break apart, only to bury their faces in each other's neck and shoulder, unwilling to part, occasionally trading small, soft, honest kisses.

When Sam comes down the stairs, having given the performance time to die down, he can't hear what Castiel or his brother are saying. He sees them holding each other tight, streaked in dusty calm sun in the otherwise dark room. He sees the angel hold Dean's shoulder in one hand, and his face in the other as he places a gentle, long kiss on Dean's forehead. He sees the slightly teary smile Cas gives Dean when the back of his head finally raises.

And then, with a slight glance at Sam amidst the rush of air as it happens, Castiel is gone.

—-

**Song:** _Going to the Warres_ from the cycle _We Happy Few_ by Richard Jackson Cumming (1928-)

**Poem:** _To Lucasta, Going to the Warres_ by Richard Lovelace (1618-1658):

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,  
That from the nunnery  
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind  
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,  
The first foe in the field;  
And with a stronger faith embrace  
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such  
As thou too shall adore;  
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,  
Lov'd I not Honour more.


End file.
